


Slit

by lorielen (culuyetille)



Category: Harry Potter - J. K. Rowling
Genre: Angst, Drama, M/M, Malfoycest (Harry Potter), Romance
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2003-01-20
Updated: 2003-01-20
Packaged: 2021-03-12 03:33:45
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Underage
Chapters: 1
Words: 968
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/28878786
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/culuyetille/pseuds/lorielen
Summary: Another, smaller fragment about how Draco takes his Fathers time in Azkaban. And they seem to get more depressing each time...
Relationships: Draco Malfoy/Lucius Malfoy





	Slit

**Author's Note:**

> Merlin. A common Draco extract for a non-D/Lish fic turned out to be... this. My soul is impregnated beyond cure, it seems...

Draco’s heart was bleeding. The physical bond he had to his lover wasn’t, however, on its usual moisty and reddish form, but streamed upwards instead, still within him, making his silver gaze watery. Only to be denied exit and running back down, cooling into crystals that stung minutely his already aching chest.

He wasn’t weeping. He wasn’t hugging his knees, staring emotionlessly at nothing in particular. He wasn’t even biting at his lower lip, a small mannerism he had developed over years and that served as only indication of his nervous state to those who knew him well.  
He wasn’t, although he had reason to be nervous and upset and it’d be excusable even for a Malfoy if he was to display signs of either thing. He didn’t. It was as though he didn’t feel, for all one could tell from his face. It was blank. This was, perhaps, how Lucius would have liked it. And so Draco showed nothing, in spite of feeling quite a lot.

The lack. The absence of not just a person but a presence, a constant, a back up, an ideal to be lived up to. A someone he could no longer reach, for he had been ripped away. Found guilty.  
Guilty of expressing his beliefs and acting on them. Whether or not it included attempted murder, didn’t matter. His Father had stood for what and who he believed.

Azkaban probably wasn’t half as bad without the Dementors in it. Therefore, as much as Draco tried to tell himself the contrary, what bothered him about Lucius’ imprisonment wasn’t as much to imagine the hell his Father was going through, but to live amidst the hurtful flames that was his own life without him.

Draco usually did, during several months a year. But to think that it had made him grow accustomed would be a foolish mistake. He ached at Hogwarts as well, and was placated only by the knowledge that at some point he’d be returning home.  
Azkaban might as well become his home. It was where his heart currently resided.

He treasured and dreaded the visitation days; the thought of his Father made him yearn for them. But the difficulty he had to keep from flooding the whole stony place with tears got bigger with each time he saw Lucius’ worsening state. Tears were pathetic. His own miserable state was ridiculous, the dependence sickening, the adoration disastrous and the silent knowledge that it was above his Malfoy pride made Draco all the more sure that he was a failure.

He saw nothing but humiliation coming for him, should he expose his frail state to the prying eyes of the world. Whenever he visited his Father, everyone’s ears were prickled. Personally, Draco wouldn’t have minded any of the idiots’ watchful eyes; but he had a name to keep. A name that was his Father’s, and that in itself made the very idea of bringing any sort of shame to it simply unbearable.

Nevertheless, he wondered, at times. Lucius knew how he was feeling, he had to know. There was no need for him to make a sobbing fool of himself. And yet... he ached. His Father had always been the one to make it better, and it hurt that he couldn’t bring this to him. It killed him that their time together should be limited and kept track of. Their feelings and desires: strangled, hidden from public exposure.

At times he thought he was doing well in keeping the facade his Blood was famous for. It was what would be expected from him. Draco Malfoy met expectations. He always had. He tried his best to.  
There were other times, however, when his heart would gasp and whisper to him. About the side of Lucius that only he was given the privilege of seeing, of evoking. The elder Malfoy’s facet that would thrive on confessions from his heart’s child, especially those concerning Draco’s hopeless need of him. How he couldn’t let go. Wouldn’t, ever.

Unlike the one to whom his Father was most devoted. That one had left Lucius, a shimmering and exquisite reflex of silver who happened to embody perfection, in reach of hands and wands of those filled with hatred. On an older man’s bidding had laid Lucius’ misfortune and Draco’s personal inferno.

His Father smiled to him, but it was a sad smile. Draco wished he also had a way of letting Lucius know about his... state. A discreet way. A non-embarrassing way. A way as revealing as that smile, ravishingly beautiful in its utter misery.  
He wasn’t as good as Lucius. He hadn’t yet reached that level of subtlety, being able to display just a slice of a heart-felt emotion he was drowning into. It was either his crystallised features or a picture of overwhelming pain.

He had chosen the safer one, for his sake and his Father’s. When in need of a very good reason not to crumble, Draco forced himself to think that he might be one of the few stable and joyful parts of the older Malfoy’s life.  
If there was anything bigger than himself for the ever whiney, self-centred Draco, that would be Lucius.

Dragon, the man would mouth to him with a half-grin on his swollen lips. My Silver Dragon, as he bestowed a rare and precious brush of fingers against the youth’s aristocratic cheekbones. Draco would smile, choking on a ball of happiness and slitting pain. His eyes would shine with the tears he was so skilled at holding back. He would concentrate on putting a stop to the movement of his slightly trembling hands.

He did not know, but right then, on the moment that was his most sublime one and his Death alike, there was no hiding just how much he cared.

**Author's Note:**

> Galleon for your thoughts. I quit my own (borrowed) Malfoy pride and beg.


End file.
